


The Way You Said "I Love You"

by indigoat



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, MSR, Tumblr Prompt, writing prompts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-19
Updated: 2017-05-07
Packaged: 2018-10-21 02:06:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10675461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indigoat/pseuds/indigoat
Summary: Prompts from @trash-by-vouge on tumblr. The ways Scully and Mulder say "I love you."Chapters that are mature are marked as such in the beginning and can be avoided if one wishes.





	1. Prologue

When Mulder says "I love you" it's like it tumbles out of him without him even planning, like he opened his mouth to say "want some coffee?" or "have you seen my keys?" and that comes out instead. It's like he's bursting with love and passion and warmth, and if he doesn't get the words out fast enough he'll explode. When he says it it fills the room and it fills her heart. He is spontaneous, never over-thinking, never worrying. She's gotten used to hearing it when he's making dinner or looking at her while they drive down the highway. His "I love you's" are fun and full of youth and excitement, of awe and wonder.

When Scully says "I love you" it comes out slow and quiet, the words heavy as they leave her mouth. Somehow he knows that if she said it in a room full of people and he was standing far apart from her, he'd be the only one to hear it. She doesn't say it often, but when she does he can feel the weight of it, how much it's costing her to say it. He knows she means and feels every single bit of it and that it will always be true when she says it. He feels it too. She is calculating and precise, never saying more than she needs to. Her "I love you's" are promises, full of commitment and trust, of vulnerability and truth.


	2. As A Hello

He's been at the airport for what feels like hours, days, maybe even months, waiting for the moment the airplane carrying Dana Katherine Scully will be visible in the pink and golden sky. It's not like he doesn't know how to live without her, more like he just doesn't want to--doesn't want to wake up without her sleeping beside him, or not make her coffee in the mornings--hazelnut with just enough half and half to turn the black coffee a shade lighter. Since they moved in together it's like his life has new meaning, like she finally let her heart out of the cage she kept it in for so long and let it make a home in him. There were obstacles, of course, squabbles over whether or not their books should go on separate shelves, bickering over hot water in the shower and doing the dishes and keeping the other up with work they couldn't bear to part with at the office. But they'd done it, they'd made a home with each other.

He looks up at the sky, and finally, finally, sees the plane off in the distance, bringing her closer and clser to him. She'd gone to a medical programme in California for three weeks, attending lectures on the newest technologies and watching and particapting in demonstrations. They had talked on the phone at night, and he would picture her in a tiny hotel room, sitting cross legged on her bed, her face radiant with passion. In his mind, she glowed. He'd made a sign that said "Welcome Home, Scully," and he's holding it now, because he knows it'll make her laugh and shake her head but also because she'll know there's sincerity in each bubble letter that he painstakingly drew.

When she climbs out of the plane he loses her in the crowd, and he's cursing his colourblindness because dammit, her red hair would stand out from everyone else, when he looks up and there she is, tanned and glowing and holding her suitcase. He sees her eyes travel up and read the sign, sees her mouth crinkle around a smile. Then she's rushing towards him, and her arms have wrapped themselves around him and he breathes in the scent of her, feeling her warmth. 

"Hey, Scully," he says, but when he does, it sounds more like, "I love you."


	3. With a Hoarse Voice, Under the Blankets

She's lying under the sheets, trying to stop from shivering, when she hears the door open and footsteps pad across the room. She pulls the covers down and looks up, sees Mulder carrying a tray with a bowl of steaming soup, a glass of crimson juice, and a book. 

"I made you dinner," he says, smiling down at her. "How do you feel?"

"Like my body went through a washing machine," she rasps, sitting up. She reaches for another tissue as he places the tray in her lap. He chuckles, stepping back and smoothing the sheet at the end of the bed.

"Well, maybe the soup will help. If you need anything you just holler, okay?" He waits until she nods before he walks out of the room, closing the door gently behind him. Scully picks up the spoon and takes a timid sip of soup. She can feel the hot broth travel down her throat, warming her cold, perspiring body. She looks at the cover of the book and smiles: _The Female Malady: Women, Madness, and English Culture, 1830-1980._ He knows her well.

He returns maybe an hour later, his hair wet from the shower, wearing a black t-shirt and underwear. 

"Was the soup good?" he asks, nodding at the empty bowl.

"Very. Thank you--" she pauses as he starts to climb into bed with her. "Mulder, what are you doing?"

"I'm climbing into bed with you."

"I can see that. Mulder, I'm contagious! I don't want you off your feet too."

"Don't worry about it." He closes his eyes and pulls her against him so that they're spooning, her hair tickling his face, her body hot against his hands. He wraps his arms around her to stop her shivering and she has to admit, it does feel nice, what with his cool arms around her and his breath against her neck. She untangles an arm to pull the covers up over the both of them, then tilts her head back. He takes the opportunity to plant kisses along her neck, and she's biting back a laugh that will turn into a cough as she mumbles, "I love you," into the dark.


	4. A Scream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This work is mature

Scully's in the basement office without any windows, feeling like the grey clouds she walked under this morning to get into the building and unware of the blue sky the afternoon has cleared up into. It's a Friday, and a few hours ago Mulder had asked her if it was okay to turn the radio on, so some soft sad Fleetwood Mac song is playing over the noises he's making.  


Her jacket is folded over the back of her desk chair, and she's got him up against the wall with his pants unbuttoned and his eyes glazed over. She’s got him in her hands. She’s trying her best not to let him into her heart.

When he says it, those three words she wishes he would stop saying, they're tangled in a mess of him breathing her name and saying _yes, yes, yes_. They leave his mouth as a sort of desperate shout and end in a whimper as he melts into the wall, melts into her. He pants her name once more as he catches his breath and she makes herself meet his eyes, which are swimming with adoration and pleasure. She makes her eyes smile back. He ducks his head as he buttons up his pants, then leans forward and kisses her. She stays there as long as she should, then steps away and gives him a rueful smile. "We should get back to work," she says softly, and he nods, touching her shoulder briefly before heading back to his desk. She sits down wearily.

She has to keep reminding herself that she was sent to watch him, to rip apart his theories and his X-files, to stack up the evidence of his mad illusions to present to the suited, faceless men on the fifth floor. She has to keep reminding herself not to get too close, because she knows she'll be yanked away from him just when she finally gives in. It will decimate her. She knows that's what they’re waiting for. Waiting for the report she delivers that will let them dive down on him like the birds of prey that they are, smelling like blood and cigarette smoke and authority and rules, until they've picked his bones clean and the only thing left to eat is her. 

_I'm not a child anymore_

_I'm tall enough to reach for the stars_

_I'm old enough to love you from afar_

_Too trusting... yes? but then women usually are._

It would have been easier if he hadn't accepted her so easily, began to trust her on their first case together. If he'd kept his guard up, if he hadn’t let her in, but he had, and it took everything she was not to cave in and let him in too. Because she knows that if she did, she would follow him anywhere, defend him against anything, give up everything she had for him. Instead she makes herself reinforces the walls around her as they hunt for the paranormal or hum along to the radio in the car or fuck on the brown leather couch in his apartment. Never had it occurred to her that doing this would hurt even more.

_I will do as I'm told_

_Even if I never hold you again,_

_I never hold you again._


	5. Over a Cup of Tea

They’d been at a fancy banquet for most of the evening, graciously shaking hands with important upper level black suits and exchanging small talk with other agents. Mostly they stayed together, making quiet comments to each other while they snacked on hors d'oeuvres and sipped white wine. Scully had teased Mulder for the cummerbund he was wearing when she first saw him, but he’d seen her face before she said a word, saw the way she took him in, drank up the sight of him. So he laughed when she made a joke about him cleaning up nicely, then touched his hand to her shoulder and said, “You look beautiful.” She’d given him one of her rare, shy smiles, her eyes averted and crinkled up with pleasure.

“That was exhausting,” he said in an undertone as they stood in the coatroom. The evening had run its course, and now guests were pulling on cloaks and saying their goodbyes.

“It was,” Scully agreed, pulling her coat over her shoulders. “Want to come over?”

Mulder smiled. “Always.”

It started to rain on their way home, the sky opening up and letting loose with all it had, and Scully took her nice shoes off and ran barefoot up the concrete steps to the entrance while Mulder held his jacket over his head and followed. They climbed up the two flights of stairs shushing each other and stuffing their knuckles in their mouths to keep from laughing out loud and waking anyone up. It was nearly one in the morning.

Inside, Mulder makes them both tea while Scully picks out a record. It crackles and hisses gently as he comes into the room holding two mugs of tea. He hands one to Scully and sits down on the couch next to her.

“I’m glad we got that over with,” he says, taking a sip. 

Scully stirs her tea with a spoon. “It wasn’t that bad this year. Sometimes you have to lie through your teeth to make sure you’ll get enough funding for the year.”

Mulder chuckles. “True.” He sets his mug down on the coffee table and undoes the top few buttons of his dress shirt. “God,” he yawns, stretching his arms over his head. “I’m glad I’m not a diplomat.”

Scully grins at her mug. “Mulder, I love you, but you would make a terrible diplomat.”

“What?” His voice is full of teasing offense and disbelief, a smile plays with the corners of his mouth. “Actually, I’ll have you know that I’m the diplomat for a band of truth-seeking fools infatuated with hot-headed, logical scientists.” His eyes get brighter, his tone more teasing as he adds, “emphasis on hot.”

“Fox…” she drags his name out as long as she can, stopping only when Mulder moves across the couch and kisses her. 

It’s slow at first, meant to be a joke, but then Scully catches his lips more firmly with hers and reaches a hand up to cup his cheek. Her other hand finds his chest and slides down to his stomach. 

If he could freeze time he’d stay here forever, in Dana’s apartment at one in the morning, the taste of tea on her lips, a chocolate scented candle burning on the coffee table and a slow, soft song playing from the speakers hooked up to her record player.

“Dana, can we…”

She smiles and takes his hands, pulling him up and into her bedroom.


End file.
